marsmars

What a dark day this is for your humble master, "The Left." I have lost all will to carry on in my witty and rhetorical ways. I feel my sense of inherent superiority slowly slipping down the metaphorical slide of stagnation. I don't know what I'll have left to cling to, when I lose the last personal asset I really had.

The problem isn't even so much lack of content, as it is a shortfall of motivation. To be sure, I find your cyclical lives to be a point of great contention for me. And contention tends towards creative outbusrts of the highly inspired nature (just think, the Bolshevik Revolution created some of the most brilliant movements in art ever witnessed). But I cannot feed off this struggle any longer. It's as though the proverbial Tsarists are slowly regaining their strenght!

The fountainhead is drying up. I feel my formerly overwhelming soft and compassionate ways making a bid for my lifestyle. And I don't know what they're going to do, if they make it. It could be the total annihiliation of everything you have come to love and expect from your all-supreme omnipotent master.

A battle rages within me! Who will be the victor? Who stands to profit from my demise? And more importantly, what vile mechanism of fate has led me to this showdown? I must ponder.